


The Packrat

by VelkynKarma



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Coran (Voltron)-centric, Coran vs Space Mice, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 19:07:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12238905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelkynKarma/pseuds/VelkynKarma
Summary: While the paladins of Voltron fight a war that spans galaxies, Coran has a more personal war going on right under their noses in the Castle of Lions.





	The Packrat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maychorian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maychorian/gifts).



> Part of a fic exchange with Maychorian! You should be sure to check out her part of the fic swap too :)

At first, Coran doesn’t notice anything unusual happening.   
  
That is to say, he does notice when items go missing—little bits of repair crystal, extra coils of repair wire, scraps of crystalboards and computer parts, various tools he uses to repair and adjust the Castle systems. But he doesn’t think much of the disappearance. After all, the Castle has been unattended for over ten thousand years. If items aren’t where he left them millennia ago, that’s hardly a surprise.   
  
Even after he begins the arduous task of repairing the Castle of Lions for launch, after their unexpected rescue and team up with five ‘humans’ from the planet Earth, it doesn’t surprise him when things go missing. Everyone is in a rush, and for only seven individuals and four mice, there’s a surprising amount of bustle about the Castle. It doesn’t have nearly as much life in it as it used to be capable of holding, yet it warms Coran’s heart to see his grandfather’s ship in use again. But lots of people and lots of activity means occasionally things simply get misplaced. Coran has a hundred thousand tasks to take care of before the Castle can launch, and if he puts some of his tools or parts down while rushing off to attend to a new more urgent task and forgets where he put them, well, that’s his own fault. And the Castle is quite big—it’s very easy to not wander back to the place where something was, well, _mis_ placed.  
  
It does get a _bit_ strange after the first spicolian movement. By then, the new paladins have managed to settle into a routine—roused early by Shiro so they can wolf down a quick breakfast, before training all day in the Lions forming Voltron. Coran and the princess have settled into a routine as well, using the time the paladins are outside the Castle to repair some of the more necessary systems without interference. Things have grown a little less chaotic then, and Coran has the Castle in more order than before. It’s a little strange that he can’t seem to find the little tools and parts he’s _sure_ he had earlier that quintent. But it isn’t as though a lightwell wrench or claxiom crystal can walk off by itself!   
  
Of course, the matter seems to settle itself after Sendak strikes, and nearly takes over the Castle. Coran has a devil of a time locating necessary items, and many more luxurious comfort objects or useful little knicknacks—bits of clothing, little crystal statues and awards, several holographic book keystones and more besides—seem to have completely disappeared into the void. He can only assume that wretched officer and his subordinate had spent half the time looting the place for valuables and had stashed the goods somewhere as gifts for their emperor. Truly obnoxious and highly unacceptable behavior, but at least the paladins had ultimately been able to defeat them.   
  
The matter seems settled. For a while, Coran finds himself busy with the launch of the Castle of Lions, and finds himself unable to focus elsewhere.  
  
But once they’re finally in the depths of space again, as the quintents pass, Coran starts to notice something’s still not quite right. By now, he’s absolutely _positive_ he has the most well traveled portions of the Castle of Lions in excellent order. There are still hundreds of rooms effectively in storage that he hasn’t had the chance to do inventory on, but for the main rooms that see frequent use, he’s catalogued their supplies and tidied everything away. Everything is in its proper place, awaiting the moment in time when it will be needed. Coran is more than satisfied with his work.   
  
Except things still keep disappearing.  
  
This time, Coran knows he’s not misplacing things. By now, he’s absolutely positive of where all of those things are _supposed_ to be stored. He knows when he puts down an item in the middle of working on a repair that it should still be there when he comes back. The Castle is less hectic now that the paladins have a clearer mission. And Allura is unlikely to move anything around unless she needs it, and usually is responsible enough to put it back when completed. Something is _definitely_ wrong here.  
  
And that’s when he first spots the mouse.  
  
The mice are a bit of an oddity in the Castle of Lions. Altean mice have always been too intelligent for their own good sometimes, and it can make them mischievous little troublemakers—or had, Coran reminds himself, ten thousand years ago. Coran’s never really been surprised that a few of the creatures had managed to sneak their way into the Castle, or that they’d gotten trapped in Allura’s cryo-pod.   
  
He had _not_ anticipated a bond between the creatures and the princess. An effect like that had never been documented before, but then, no one had ever been stored in a cryo-pod for over a thousand years before, let alone ten thousand. Whatever the case, these mice appear to have benefited from their link with Allura in more ways than one. Not only are they even more intelligent than most Altean mice, but they’re afforded all the protections of a friend of the princess of Altea.   
  
For the most part, they’ve never really bothered Coran. Unlike normal pets, they more or less clean up after themselves, and don’t get underfoot when the rest of the team is trying to do something important. They keep the princess company and give her someone to talk to, and the ancients know she needs the comfort, with the position she’s in. She’s trying to remain strong for the humans, that much Coran can see, and isn’t ready to take most of her woes to them just yet. And while Coran had almost as much of a hand in raising her as Alfor had, there are simply some things one doesn’t discuss with their father figure _or_ their servant. The mice have been good for her, so Coran’s willing to forgive the occasional bout of mischief.  
  
After the third time he spots the mice in the vicinity of a missing item, however, he starts to rethink his policy on forgiveness.  
  
It’s one mouse specifically—Platt, the big yellow one. The mouse doesn’t seem particularly given to stealth, and most of the time he tends to amble along leisurely while the rest of the mice scurry and play. He has a fondness for Hunk’s food and constantly begs for dinner from the rest of the paladins’ plates, but as far as Coran’s witnessed he’s probably the least mischievous and most lazy of the four mice. He’s about the least likely to be a culprit in any mysterious item disappearances, at first glance.  
  
But Coran starts to notice a curious tendency for the yellow mouse to be in the vicinity shortly before something disappears. The time he removes an old burnt-out connector crystal to replace it with a new one, he distinctly recalls passing the mouse in the hallway, and the burnt connector had disappeared while he’d been half buried in the mechanisms attaching the new one. He’d spent a day laundering the dresses of the princess and repairing a few glowing ornamentations, only to find several of the bright teal buttons had vanished—and he was sure he’d seen Platt in the laundry pile earlier, buried in cloth.   
  
It’s a little too convenient to Coran. He didn’t get to be the personal attendant of King Alfor and a high ranking member of the Altean military for nothing—Coran the gorgeous man is just as gorgeous for his _brains_ as his _looks._ He keeps a suspicious eye out after that, keeping close watch on his tools and the items involved in his chores—and at the surrounding area, looking and listening hard for unwanted tiny intruders.  
  
He gets his proof not even a quintent later, when he’s reviewing the readings on condenser number three. It’s been having some trouble lately, dropping to ninety-five percent power, and while that’s not quite dangerous yet it is something to keep an eye on. The readings on his little handheld scanner point out some anomalies that look like they might be the cause, however. Without thinking, he sets down the scanner to tap input into the condenser’s console to monitor them.   
  
When he reaches for the scanner less than a dobosh later, after queuing up the diagnostic sweep, it’s gone. But it had been right next to him just thirty ticks ago! He’d only looked away for a moment. Coran scowls as he looks around the room, and spots the open air vent in the corner of the condenser room—and his sharp Altean hearing makes out the tiny little scritch-scratch of paws dragging something over the metal.   
  
_“Platt!”_ he yells, knowing the mouse can surely still hear him. “That’s it! I’m done putting up with this! The princess _will_ know about this!”  
  
He tracks her down immediately and finds her in the training deck, practicing with a military-issue warstaff against the Gladiator. Although they have the paladins of Voltron to take care of most direct combat, Allura thought it best to brush up on her own training just in case. Coran—loathe as he was to let Alfor’s daughter rush into danger, just like he so often had—agrees with her assessment. He’d rather keep her out of trouble if he can, but he knows trouble has a tendency to find anyone close to Voltron regardless.  
  
And now, an entirely _different_ kind of trouble has found her.  
  
“Princess!” Coran says, storming into the training deck, after disabling the Gladiator with an override code from the main console. The Gladiator deactivates immediately as Allura turns to face him, looking concerned.  
  
“What is it? Is something wrong? Are we being attacked?”  
  
“ _I’m_ certainly being attacked,” Coran says with a scowl. “Princess, I must talk to you about the mice—Platt, specifically.”   
  
Allura’s combat-ready concerned expression changes to one of pure confusion. “The mice? Is something wrong? Are they okay?”  
  
“I’ll say they’re a little _more_ than okay,” Coran says. “Princess, you should speak with the mice. Platt especially. I’m positive he’s been helping himself to items around the Castle of Lions…even items that do _not_ belong to him. Why, I’m certain he took my portable diagnostic scanner not ten doboshes ago!”  
  
Allura frowns, and looks down at the floor behind Coran. All four mice are skittering across the floor now that the Gladiator is inactive, scrambling over to Allura’s feet and clambering easily up her combat suit to her shoulders. Platt, as usual, is last in line and dragging behind the others. Coran eyes him suspiciously—there’s no scanner anywhere in sight. He suspects the mouse was last not because of laziness but because he’d been busy stashing his loot somewhere else first.  
  
“Is this true?” Allura asks the mice, glancing this way and that on her shoulders to speak to them.  
  
The mice chatter and squeak incomprehensibly. Coran has no idea what they’re saying, but from the way the Chuchule and Plachu gesture, and the way Platt is doing his best to look positively innocent, he has a feeling the answer isn’t ‘yes.’   
  
Allura finally shakes her head. “They say they have no idea what happened to the scanner. Platt says he’s been taking a nap in my room since breakfast time.”  
  
Coran crosses his arms, and gives the yellow mouse an indignant look. Platt presses his little paws together in front of him and snuggles close to Allura’s neck, the very picture of innocence. But Coran knows better, and the moment Allura isn’t looking, the mouse gives him a smug look. Oh, yes, Coran knows better. He’s on to the little mouse’s tricks, and he’s not falling for the adorable _lomis_ -pup eyes.   
  
Still, this will be a bit tricky. Directly accusing Allura’s little friend of theft clearly will not be as easy as he’d first thought, especially when he intends to duck behind the princess for protection. And there is only so much one can argue with a princess, however much she may think of you as family.   
  
“Then where is my portable diagnostic scanner?” Coran asks finally.  
  
“Did you witness Platt taking it?” Allura asks, with a faint edge of surprise in her voice.   
  
Coran opens his mouth to answer…and realizes he can’t. He _knows_ Platt is responsible. He’s seen the mouse in the area for every theft, and heard the mouse nearby. But he’s never actually witnessed an actual theft in action. Platt has always been smart enough to take items when Coran isn’t looking, and without actual, hard proof, there’s nothing he can do.  
  
“I only put it down for thirty ticks, princess,” he tries instead. “It couldn’t have walked off without help.”  
  
Allura pats his arm understandingly. “You probably just misplaced it, Coran,” she says sympathetically. “It happens to the best of us. There’s plenty of other diagnostic scanners in the monitoring rooms. It may take a few doboshes to transfer all the diagnostic updates to a new one so you can continue, but there’s no harm in misplacing one. I can help you look for it later, if you like.”   
  
Coran clenches his jaw so hard he can feel his teeth grinding, especially when Platt waves at him cheekily from Allura’s shoulder when she isn’t looking. The injustice of it all! Hoodwinking a poor innocent princess with cute little eyes and ears and squeaks, and putting the blame on him!  
  
But he’d gotten to be Alfor’s aide by knowing how to have a decent mask in place when it was needed, and he disguises his frustration now. “That’s very kind of you, princess, but that won’t be necessary,” he says. “I’ll just get a new diagnostic scanner, like you suggested. I’m sure the other one will turn up eventually.”  
  
Because he’s going to find it. It, and everything else Platt has snuck out under their noses. This will be tricky indeed. But Coran is the man with a plan, and he does not give up or concede defeat to a mouse! He just needs a little hard evidence, and he can present the issue to the princess in a way that’s absolutely indisputable.   
  
No matter how adorable and furry the opposing side is. 

* * *

  
  
Coran is very cautious after that with his possessions. He never leaves his tools laying about anymore, and never puts anything down when he isn’t still actively looking at it. If it can be secured in the inner pockets of his suits, he does so, and he never leaves any items relevant to his chores laying around. If he needs to abandon a task halfway, he’s sure to take all the relevant items with him first.   
  
It works, in the sense that Coran no longer “misplaces” items he’s using within doboshes. But it doesn’t work when it comes to keeping Platt out of mischief at all. Because if the mouse can’t have his stolen goods in one way, it turns out he’s bound to obtain them in a number of creative other ways.   
  
After laundering an extra batch of towels pulled from one of the old storage rooms, Coran distributes them to the bathrooms of the paladins, as well as the pool and the training rooms. He discovers one of the hand towels has completely disappeared from the wall rack when he comes back for laundry the next spicolian movement. Keith shrugs his shoulders bemusedly when asked where it is, when he breaks from another session with the Gladiator. “I thought you already took them to clean,” he admits. But there’s definitely one missing from Coran’s count. He’s sure it’s vanished off to wherever Platt likes to stash his loot.   
  
Pidge asks where a number of tools are for delicate computer build work a few quinents later, looking bemused. “I thought I saw you with them last,” she tells Coran. “I thought you’d have put them away in the cabinet, but I don’t see them anywhere. Did you move them maybe? Are you still using them? I need them to make a few upgrades.”   
  
“I’ll see if I can track them down for you,” Coran promises. But inside he’s secretly fuming. He _does_ remember putting those tools away in the supplies cabinet, but they certainly aren’t there now. The cabinet is typically locked, but it isn’t a complicated latch. A clever mouse could certainly swipe it back and sneak its way in for whatever it desired.   
  
Hunk asks him bemusedly when they intend to stop by a market next to restock on supplies. “We need more of those _asha_ berry things,” he says. “I must’ve used up more than I thought making those scones last week ‘cause they’re all gone. Er, last movement. Right. Space times. Anyway. I was just curious if you know when we’ll get more?”  
  
“I’ll put together a shopping list,” Coran promises. Human digestive needs—and tastes—are certainly alarmingly different, and he relies on Hunk’s input on cooking for the paladins after the disastrous paladin lunch incident. Still, he’s absolutely _certain_ that they’d had more of those berries after Hunk’s ‘scones’ last movement. Not enough for a large meal, certainly, but they hadn’t been completely gone.   
  
He suspects there’s another greedy little culprit responsible. One who’s always begging for the others’ meals, and probably decided to help himself.   
  
Coran takes further measures. He puts stronger locks on important tools and on the pantry, and teaches the codes for them only on a need to know basis. Allura and Shiro get full access, and Hunk is the only one allowed to know the codes for food, while Hunk and Pidge get access to equipment.   
  
“Is all this extra security really necessary?” Shiro asks him bemusedly, when Coran gives him the codes in private, far away from any place any very tiny listening ears can hear. “Externally I can understand, but—“  
  
“Of course it’s necessary!” Coran says. “I mean…we’ve already had intruders once, right? Sendak made a real mess of the Castle. I’m only trying to ensure future intruders, if any, won’t have an easier time of it.”  
  
“By locking the pantry?” Shiro asks, raising an eyebrow.   
  
“We’ll starve them into surrendering,” Coran counters, a little defensively.   
  
Shiro doesn’t seem terribly convinced, but he’s certainly one of the more well-rounded humans. Coran can practically see in his eyes the moment when he decides pursuing the topic is more energy than is worth expending on it.   
  
Coran breathes an internal sigh of relief at that.   
  
It helps, but for perhaps only spicolian movement at most. Then things start disappearing again; knickknacks, bits of snacks, smaller pieces of exercise equipment, tools and repair equipment, even little pieces of junk or small boxes left over from unpacking and cleanup. Coran is frankly baffled at how much Platt seems to make off with, and there’s no link between any of the missing items, no way to predict what the mouse will cart away next. Platt doesn’t seem to have any particular preference, other than it being shiny or interesting, or small enough for him to drag away on his own. And Coran can’t magnetically seal every object in the Castle to make it impossible to lift. Most of those things are day to day items everyone needs.   
  
What’s more baffling is how the mouse is getting away with it. Coran searches the crime scenes thoroughly every time, and eventually he starts to find the evidence. A crack in the pantry that a persistent mouse could squeeze through if determined enough. Nibbled wires in the security mounts, cleverly hidden and just enough to disable the key codes on the the storage rooms for the repair equipment and extra crystals. In one deeply frustrating incident, the thumb-sized power crystal that had been responsible for powering the security for the tool cabinets was itself stolen, along with a blaxem coupler after the fact.   
  
Coran is about ready to tear his mustache out in frustration. And he’s _positive_ Platt knows it. The mouse is forever giving him cheeky little waves and tail flips and snickering squeaks from the safety of Allura’s shoulders. He seems to be having a grand old time evading Coran. And Coran doesn’t have any better proof to bring to Allura, for all his attempts to get a hold of some. A crack in the wall or a crystal that disappeared certainly isn’t proof that Platt is a little thief, and the princess certainly won’t accept a bare-bones accusation without something to back it up. And he’s positive Platt knows _that_ too, because the mouse is clever enough to never steal anything of Allura’s, no matter how much her jewelry box must surely be a temptation.   
  
The mouse gets more brazen with his thefts. He starts stealing from Coran directly, and Coran suspects the mouse has a grand old time with the challenge. In the span of just a few quintents, Coran finds that he’s ‘misplaced’ his left glove, his favorite old nunville flask, and a number of holographic book keystones from his personal room—no matter how many boxes and locks he uses.  
  
This mouse is a _menace._   
  
It finally comes to a head after Coran begins getting to work in one of the old storage rooms.  After the Balmera incident, and his impromptu training session for the Yalexian Pearl, Pidge had expressed fascination at the idea that “chess,” as they referred to it, was a game from outside Earth. Coran had been intrigued that the humans remembered it, and it had reminded him of a prized set of Alfor’s from years and years ago.   
  
Although the game could be easily produced in holographic form for play, Alfor had commissioned a beautiful physical set out of _haxelite_ crystals, in ruby red and brilliant blue glittering colors on a gorgeous board of Altean oak, and he had loved playing against his friends with it. Ah, the stories the board could tell of better times! Coran knows the set is in the Castle somewhere, and spends an afternoon hunting it down. He is sure Alfor would want to see it passed on to his successors, to teach and to entertain both.  
  
He finds the set, after vargas of searching, but the pieces and the board are buried in two separate locations. He counts the pieces and closes them back up in their case before turning to dig out the board. But when he finally manages to retrieve it, he turns to find the piece-case open and one of the red sages—bishops, the humans called them—missing.   
  
Eyes narrowed, Coran spins around to glare at the door, just in time to catch sight of a yellow tail whipping around the corner.  
  
“You get back here with that!” he hollers, dashing out into the corridor. But Platt is nowhere to be seen—and there’s a dozen places the mouse could have disappeared into, from the multitude of doors in the hallway to the air ducts set in the walls.   
  
“That’s the last time, Platt!” Coran hollers after him. “You’ve crossed the line! That’s priceless!”   
  
And he’ll take it to the princess right now. It’s one thing for her to be tricked over replaceable items or unnecessary luxuries. It’s another thing entirely for something so personal to the princess to go missing. There’s certainly no way she can ignore _this._   
  
So as soon as he packs up the ornate chess set—minus one ruby red sage—he does so, scowling at the thought of the little thief that’s been inconveniencing him for movements.  
  
Allura is more or less recovered, after the incident on the Balmera, enough to be out of bed and participating in day to day tasks and training. Much like her father, while Allura knows the rules of royal etiquette, she’s also not afraid to get her hands dirty pitching in with the rest of the team. Today Coran finds her reviewing the Castle of Lion’s energy levels, scanning for Galra crystal remnants yet again after the disastrous incident that corrupted Alfor’s artificial intelligence. (Coran still feels a pang of sadness at the thought of the destroyed AI, gone too soon once again).   
  
The mice—all four of them—are sitting arranged on Allura’s shoulders or balanced on the computer consoles as Allura studies the readouts. Platt glances at Coran, and immediately looks away. Coran doesn’t speak mouse, but he knows someone feigning innocence when he sees it.   
  
“I need to speak to you for a moment, princess,” Coran asks, giving Platt a dirty look.   
  
“Of course. Is something the matter?” Allura asks, giving him a concerned look.  
  
“In a manner of speaking. It’s a bit more like revisiting our original discussion some movements back. I believe _someone_ —“ he gives Platt, still deliberately looking away, another pointed look, “—has still been helping themselves to items that don’t belong to them. Why, just today I found _this_ —“  
  
“Father’s _kaos_ set!” Allura interjects, eyes lighting up—and flickering just a tad with sadness, Coran is unhappy to see. The destruction of Alfor’s AI had not gone easy on her, either.  
  
“Yes, I managed to find it. I thought you and the paladins might appreciate it,” Coran says brightly. “However, there _is_ a piece missing.” He sets the pieces out on the board, and points at the empty square where the sage is supposed to stand.   
  
“Perhaps it was lost,” Allura says, looking unhappy.  
  
“That’s just it, princess. It _was_ there earlier. I had it in my hand! But I turned away for just a moment to retrieve the board, and when I looked back the box was open and the piece was gone.” He tries to keep his expression as professional as possible, but fails to hide a scowl. “And I know I saw Platt’s tail darting around the corner!”   
  
Allura looks surprised at the accusation. “Platt? Is that true?”   
  
The mouse chatters loudly in her ear, waving its little paws wildly for emphasis. After a moment, several of the others join in, squeaking alongside their friend as they vie for Allura’s attention. She cocks her head this way and that, intently listening to all of them, before turning back to Coran.  
  
“Platt says he has no idea what could have happened to the piece, but all of the mice have offered to help you search for it,” Allura says, looking a little relieved. “They should be able to get into some smaller spaces to search for it—perhaps they will be able to locate it. Perhaps it fell behind another box after you looked at it.”   
  
Coran wants to throw his hands up in exasperation and insist that he _knows_ where the piece is—hidden somewhere by Platt’s own design! But the princess looks so upset and forlorn at the thought of one of her father’s few remaining possessions being lost after so many years, that he bites his tongue. The mice snuggle up on either side of Allura’s head, squeaking and offering comfort as they pluck at her hair and skitter over her shoulders, and she relaxes a little at the contact. When she’s distracted with one of Chuchule’s antics and looking the other way, however, Coran doesn’t miss the look Platt sends his way. The mouse seems to realize the importance of the item he’s stolen, but even so, he doesn’t seem ready to confess just yet.  
  
He wishes he could scowl back, but the princess would certainly see it. He settles for brushing his fingers through his mustache in frustration. Drat that little mouse!   
  
“Well?” Allura asks. “Where should they start first?”  
  
Coran bites his tongue again, but manages to say in a relatively normal tone after a moment, “I’ll take them with me to the storage wing where I first found the set. I’ll leave the rest here with you in your safekeeping, princess.” He places the box next to her. At least Platt won’t be cheeky enough to steal something out from under her nose! As much as he’d love to catch the mouse in action, he’d rather Alfor’s possessions be safe, first.  
  
“Excellent. Thank you for working together on this,” Allura says, relieved.   
  
Coran offers a polite acknowledgment, but the moment he leaves the room with the mice in tow, he starts grumbling under his breath.   
  
He’s not surprised in the least when Platt diverts his course one floor later and disappears into a vent before Coran can so much as stop him…probably vanishing off to his hidey-hole to retrieve the stolen sage piece from wherever it’s stashed. He’s not able to track the creature in the least despite his best efforts, and a varga and a half later when he returns to the princess, it's to find Platt sitting smugly on her shoulder.  
  
“Look!” Allura says excitedly, holding a red sage piece up between her fingers. “Platt found it! Now we have the whole set again. Father would be pleased.”   
  
She lavishes praise on the yellow mouse, thanking him for all of his help finding such a treasured object when it must have been a difficult task, and rewards him for his service with delicious snacks from the kitchen. Platt looks positively smug with his success at how cleverly he managed to turn the trouble he caused into a number of rewards.   
  
Coran watches the entire thing with barely contained indignation, fuming internally. Platt catches sight of him, and gives him a pleased looking little mousey smirk. Coran glares back when the princess isn’t looking, unable to do anything else.  
  
This is the last straw, he decides. He’s not letting the mouse get away with this theft and trickery any longer, not if his name is Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe.  
  
No, this…this means _war._

* * *

  
  
Coran is through with playing defensively, he decides. Letting Platt do as he likes isn’t helping at all, and trying to predict what the mouse will do or what he’ll steal next is impossible.   
  
It’s time, Coran thinks, to go on the offensive.   
  
He isn’t afforded much time to do so at first, mostly due to the chaos of being a part of team Voltron. There’s the whole incident with Allura being captured, of course, and being split up by an unstable wormhole, and then the urgency of healing Shiro and dealing with Ulaz’ unexpected break in (and subsequent sacrifice). All in all, things are quite busy on the Castle of Lions for a while, and neither Coran nor Platt has the time to focus on their personal war when there’s a much bigger, more literal war at hand.  
  
But then things start to slow down, and Platt is at it again, and Coran decides it’s _finally_ time to act.   
  
A tracker is a good way to start, he decides. He puts together one of the micro-trackers embedded in each of the paladins’ suits of armor, and hides it in a holo-drive that he’s already downloaded all the data from. Losing it won’t be an issue, and hopefully he can track Platt once the item is stolen on a little hand held monitor he’s upgraded for just such a purpose.  
  
He leaves the item out deliberately in his room, inviting and shiny. Although Platt’s choices for theft are relatively unpredictable, he does seem to have a fondness for stealing things of Coran’s; Coran is reasonably sure the mouse will take the bait. And sure enough, when he wakes the early the next quintent, the item is gone from his desk.   
  
Coran grins to himself, and pulls out the handheld monitor—which he’d slept with in his hands, just to be certain—to start tracking.  
  
The signal leads to the paladins’ quarters, and he follows it with his nose to the monitor, occasionally glancing up suspiciously. There’s no sign of any of the mice in the hall, and no place for them to disappear in this area, other than perhaps the vents. But the vents wouldn’t be big enough to store all the things Platt has been making off with. It’s more likely he’s hiding his stash in one of the rooms.   
  
Platt’s signal stops inside one of the living quarters, and Coran punches the door open quickly, still staring down at his monitor suspiciously. The door slides open to reveal a startled-looking Keith sitting on his bed, but a quick sweep of the room reveals no Platt, and precious few places the mouse could hide. Paladin quarters were neat, tidy, and generally plain until the owner did anything with them, and Keith has never struck Coran as the decorative type.  
  
Still, it never hurts to be certain. “Keith, did you happen to see a mouse come through here?” he asks, glancing around the room again in suspicion. “He has something of mine.”  
  
“Um, no,” Keith says, looking both confused and startled by the question.   
  
Coran is fairly certain he’s not lying. He hasn’t known Keith for very long, but he does know Keith is a terrible liar, and that expression is too genuine to be faked. And anyway, he’s never seen any of the mice interact with their red paladin. He doubts Keith would bother to cover for Platt’s thefts.  
  
Drat that mouse. Coran has a terrible feeling he’s been hoodwinked somehow; he’s just not sure how, yet. “I’ll find you, Platt,” he grumbles, as he turns to leave. Perhaps the readings are too sensitive, and not accounting for different levels of the ship.   
  
He tunes the device further and wanders down the hall, trying to follow the signal. Definitely in this area, but _where?_ There’s only so many places even a mouse could go. His nose is practically buried in the handheld monitor, and he’s so obsessed with his tracking it takes him a moment to realize Keith is following behind, speaking to him.  
  
But when he does, Keith sounds so hesitant and unsure as he asks questions about the Galra that it breaks Coran’s concentration on his hunt. He finds himself settling into “advisor” mode without even thinking about it. Then Pidge hails them, and they discover the distress signal of the Olkari, and suddenly everything is a whirlwind of activity as they save a planet and then flee for their lives from Zarkon’s furious pursuit. For a time Coran forgets all about his personal battle with Platt.  
  
When things finally settle down again, Coran remembers his initial plan, and goes back to hunting for his missing holo-drive bait. To his intense frustration, he finds his handheld monitor has disappeared at some point during all of the chaos. And when he heads back to the paladins’ quarters to hunt for where he last remembered the signal being, he finds his micro-tracker stuck to the ceiling of the room just below Keith’s personal quarters, taunting him.   
  
A quintent later, one of the holo-cubes he’d been gifted with from Olkari goes missing.  
  
Coran simply cannot _wait_ to catch the mouse red-pawed. 

* * *

  
  
“Hey Coran. Have you seen my slippers anywhere?”  
  
Coran blinks at the odd request when Lance strolls up mid-day, while Coran is in the middle of repairing a malfunctioning mediclone on one of the nebulon boosters.   
  
“Your slippers?” Coran asks.   
  
“Yeah. Y’know, the ones that look like Blue. They came from the Castle, I figured maybe you’d know if they were, I dunno, getting cleaned or something.”   
  
Coran certainly hasn’t taken them for anything. And while the paladins’ Lions are capable of independent thought and movement, their slippers certainly aren’t…however adorably similar their likeness may be. He does, however, have a sneaking suspicion he knows where they’ve gone…or who took them.  
  
“I haven’t touched them,” Coran says, snapping the panel on the nebulon booster shut. “When and where was the last place you had them?”  
  
“You know, I could’ve sworn I left them in my room,” Lance says, bemused. “I mean, I’ll wear them around the Castle in the mornings, but I always keep them in my room. They weren’t there this afternoon though. Maybe I misplaced them? I checked the room already, but maybe I missed it when I kicked them under the bed or something.”   
  
“Oh no,” Coran says, shaking his head. “I think you’re _exactly_ right about them not being in your room at all. That’s it, Platt! Stealing from the paladins, that’s the last straw! For real, this time! I won’t have it!”  
  
“Platt?” Lance says, bewildered. “The…the mouse? The yellow one, right?”  
  
“Yes. Definitely the yellow mouse. Oh, once I get my hands on him…” Coran crosses his arms in frustration.   
  
“You okay?” Lance asks. “You look kinda…really mad. And…not surprised. Is this normal?”  
  
“Platt’s been stealing things for feebs now,” Coran says. “Feebs! I know it’s him, I’m sure of it, even if I haven’t physically seen him steal anything yet. He’s only been nicking things that are public access so far, or stealing from me, but—ooh, Platt, I will get you for this! You don’t steal from the paladins!” He rambles furiously, listing a long an extensive account of everything that Coran knows of that’s gone missing under mysterious circumstances.  
  
“Ooooh,” Lance says, as Coran finally slows to a breathless stop. “So Platt’s a packrat, huh? Well. Packmouse. I guess. That explains a few things though.”  
  
“He’s a what?” Coran asks.   
  
“A packrat,” Lance says. “It’s…well, it’s a real animal too, but it’s also a term we use on Earth for people who just kinda…hoard stuff, even if they don’t need it. Although maybe he’s just being particularly mouse-y? I dunno about Altean mice, but lots of rodents on Earth will steal and hoard stuff all the time. Even the pet ones.” He shrugs.  
  
“So this doesn’t sound… _fake_ to you?” Coran asks, intrigued. “You believe me, that is?”  
  
“I mean, it sounds _weird,_ ” Lance says, “but I wouldn’t say it sounds fake. I mean, Platt helps himself to my dinner all the time.”  
  
“Good,” Coran says decisively. “In that case, you’re helping me get to the bottom of this.”  
  
“What?” Lance takes a step back, suddenly far less certain than before. “Why _me?_ ”   
  
“Firstly,” Coran says imperiously, “Because you want your slippers back, and I’m _sure_ that mouse has it.”  
  
“I could live without them, honestly,” Lance cuts in hastily. “Or use somebody else’s. I don’t think Keith or Pidge have ever bothered with theirs—“  
  
“And _secondly_ ,” Coran interrupts, “because you don’t look terribly busy otherwise, and if not this task, I can certainly find something for idle hands. Perhaps cleaning the cryo-pods again, you already know how to do that—“  
  
“Let’s catch some mice!” Lance cuts him off again, with false enthusiasm. “Anything but cryo-pods,” he adds, muttering low under his breath.  
  
Coran’s superior Altean hearing catches it, of course. Even as he turns away to head back for the door to the nebulon booster chamber, he smiles to himself.   
  
He has an ally in this war, and now he’ll _finally_ get to the bottom of this.  
  


* * *

  
  
Lance’s suggestion, after hearing everything Coran’s done so far, is to try catching Platt, rather than following him back to his hidey-holes.   
  
“If we set out bait and he gets caught trying to steal it, that’s all the proof you need for Allura, right?” Lance points out. “So we set a trap, film it on one of the Castle’s monitoring systems, and then show the proof to her. Boom. She tells Platt to take us to his stash and we get all our stuff back.”  
  
It’s not a terrible idea, Coran has to admit. Lance certainly isn’t the tactically minded soldier Shiro is, or the theoretically efficient chess master Pidge is, but there’s a common sense to his plans that makes them solid and practical. It could work.  
  
The trap is the trickier thing. Annoying as Platt is, neither of them want to harm the mouse—just catch him in the act of trying to steal something. Lance describes a number of “humane” mouse traps from back on Earth for ideas, but many of them are little more than the equivalent of a box on a stick with bait inside. Earth mice don’t sound like they’re quite as clever as Altean ones, Coran muses.  
  
But they do eventually settle on something with enough of a good concept that Coran can modify it with Altean technology to potentially work. It’s a clear box with a plate in the middle, on which bait is supposed to be set. On Earth, the way Lance describes it, pressure on the plate when the bait is removed triggers a spring mechanism and the doors on the trap snap shut. The Altean mice are too clever not to notice doors waiting to close, however, so Coran modifies the trap with nanotech, not unlike the way the hatches seal shut out of seemingly nowhere on the Castle’s pods. The plate is also a fake-out—the real trigger for the doors is movement fully inside the box.  
  
“That’s pretty cool,” Lance admits, when Coran demonstrates it. “No doors to give it away. They just sort of appear. And nobody gets hurt. So how do we get him out again, once we’ve caught him?”  
  
“With this,” Coran says, holding out a small remote trigger on a little handheld device the size of his thumb. “Press the button and the doors will both release.” He does so, and the clear walls shimmer as they disappear again.   
  
Setting the trap is easier by comparison. An open glass box in the middle of the floor would be too obviously a trap, but Coran installs it between several other boxes in the pantry, and then it looks less out of place. Baiting it with food doesn’t seem so out of place then either, and Lance is very insistent that it has to be food to work.  
  
“Listen, Platt _loves_ food, okay,” Lance says confidently. “I once saw him nearly burn his little paws because he took one of Hunk’s brownies straight off the tray right out of the oven. If anything will work better than shiny stuff, it’s dinner. Open food is way easier to get into than all this packaged stuff. Should be impossible to resist.”  
  
Coran can’t really argue with that logic. Technology had suited him fairly well as bait, and it was certainly shiny enough to attract attention, but it hadn’t helped him in the long run. Platt does love his snacks, though. He certainly might be willing to wander into an unknown new box in the pantry to try and get it.  
  
So they set the trap, baiting it with two of Hunk’s “snickerdoodle” cookies. Coran sets one of the Castle monitors up to film the whole thing, just in case. And then they wait nearby in the kitchen.   
  
The next few vargas are uneventful, and Coran waits impatiently, cleaning the entire kitchen and checking and re-checking the food dispenser machine three times to ensure it’s in proper working order. But then it finally happens: there’s the soft hum of the trap activating in the pantry, and then a loud, indignant squeak a moment later.  
  
“We’ve got him!” Coran says victoriously. “I’ve finally got you, Platt!”  
  
He and Lance dash into the pantry, and sure enough, the mouse is trapped inside the now fully closed clear box, clutching one of the cookies and pressing against the newly appeared door. Platt’s ears are flat with indignation, and he shoots a tiny mouse scowl in Coran’s direction when the two crouch down to see him.   
  
“I told you it was the last straw, Platt!” Coran says, waving a finger at him. “I told you I would have no more of this stealing! Now we’ve got you on camera _and_ holding the evidence. You’ll _have_ to confess to the princess now!”  
  
Platt looks deeply unhappy, and shoots a sullen, betrayed look in Lance’s direction.  
  
Lance hold up his hands in a sign of surrender. “Look, I just want my slippers back,” he says. “And anything else you nicked. I don’t think that’s—“  
  
Something lands _hard_ on Coran’s head, and he jumps up with a yelp, slapping at his head to try and clear it away. There’s a flash of green fur as the attacker leaps, and Plachu lands atop the clear box a second later, bristling—with the handheld remote in its mouth.   
  
_“Quiznak!”_ Coran snaps. He’d been holding onto it, but when he’d tried to drive away his new attacker, Plachu must have stolen it from him.   
  
Beside Coran, Lance yelps indignantly as Chuchule bounces off his head as well, landing beside its cohort on top of the box. The red mouse turns to reach for the button of the remote Plachu is still holding, while Platt, still below in the box, squeaks an encouraging cheer.  
  
“Stop them!” Coran hollers, lunging for the mice on top of the trap.  
  
Plachu and Chuchule scatter before they can successfully press the button, darting away from Coran’s hands and for the pantry door, skittering between Lance’s feet. Coran is already up again and making for the door. Lance reacts faster; he twists awkwardly and makes a dive for Plachu and the remote, splaying out awkwardly on his stomach and skidding on the smooth tiling out the door as he grabs for the mouse. Plachu leaps, tail sliding between Lance’s fingers, but drops the remote in its haste to dodge.   
  
Coran starts to cheer, and Lance reaches for the remote. But Chuchule comes charging out of the pantry door in a wild rush, squeaking loudly. The red mouse leaps, rebounds off of Lance’s ear (to another indignant spluttering yelp from the blue paladin) and lands, with a sudden finality, on the remote button as it hits the ground.  
  
There’s a little _click-woosh_ from behind Coran, and he turns just in time to see Platt darting out of the now open trap, still clutching one of the cookies in his mouth. Coran tries to make a grab for the yellow mouse, but Platt whips around the corner of the door and disappears into an air vent before either Altean or human can react. Plachu and Chuchule, with snickering little squeaks, follow after, Chuchule taking the prize of the trap remote with them.   
  
“Drat that mouse!” Coran curses. “Drat _all_ of them!”   
  
“At least you still have the footage?” Lance offers with a wince, as he pulls himself to his feet, hauling himself upright with the countertop for support. He rubs his stomach with another wince. “Ow. Belly flopping into a floor is a bad thing. Do not recommend.”  
  
Coran pats him on the shoulder. “I appreciate the attempt all the same,” he says sincerely, “but you are right, at least we have the footage!”   
  
He returns to the pantry proper and pulls down the monitoring device, but frowns almost immediately. The item isn’t transmitting imagery any more—and there are a suspicious number of teeth marks in it to suggest why. But _how…?_   
  
A tiny squeak catches his attention, and Coran glances down just in time to see the tiniest of the mice, little blue Chulatt, wave at him mischievously and disappear into the small crack in the wall.   
  
Lance peers in the doorway, a bewildered expression on his face. “I thought you said it was just Platt causing trouble?”  
  
“It _was!_ ” Coran says, indignant. “The others _never_ were involved before. They’ve formed an alliance against us!”   
  
Lance groans. “Remember when you asked me before if I’d believe this? Well, if I hadn’t just seen it happen, I wouldn’t believe this.”   
  
Coran scowls. Fine then. The terms of the war have gotten larger, and the mice may have won the battle. But he _will_ be victorious, if his name isn’t Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe!  
  


* * *

  
  
Unfortunately for Coran, his victory—although he is sure it’s due—is not as immediate as he’d like, and more hard fought than he’d like to admit when the opponents are four rodents. If Alfor could see this, he’d probably bust a _scholaxom_ laughing, and so too would the rest of the old paladins.  
  
Coran is persistent, and Lance is clever, and between the two of them they come up with a number of other traps and tricks to try and catch Platt in the act of stealing. They use other kinds of traps—miniature particle barriers, other modified humane mouse traps from Earth, and even some tricks from the training room, used to catch lazy paladins unawares. They wire better hidden cameras to try and catch the thefts in progress. They hide away items with more secure locks. They seal up cracks and block non-essential vents. They tag food and bait items with other forms of tracking technology, to try and follow the progress of the stolen items back to Platt’s lair, wherever it might be on the ship.  
  
But all their efforts are for nothing. The mice find ways to disable the traps, and still get the prizes held within, by working as a cohesive team. They find ways to disable the cameras and the trackers, or conveniently block the view until the theft is over with and the treats have disappeared. They find new ways to squirm their way into lockboxes and sealed cabinets, even without the use of the blocked-up exits they first used. And they always find ways to pay back Coran and his assistant for their trouble—including, Coran notices, a cheeky tendency to steal things from Lance as well.  
  
"I feel like we're in some real life Tom and Jerry cartoon…" Lance groans, after the sixteenth broken trap, and the disappearance of his favorite headphones. He’s sitting in the dining room, flopped forward over the table with an exhausted expression on his face.   
  
Coran can empathize with his mood, though not, admittedly, with whatever he’s just said. “What is a ‘cartoon’?” he asks curiously.  
  
“It’s…uh…” Lance lifts his head from the table, brow furrowed as he tries to figure out how to explain. “It’s like…a bunch of drawings that are combined together really fast to imitate movement. We make entertainment out of them. I’m sure Pidge has some on her computer, we can show you sometime I guess.”   
  
“Fascinating,” Coran says, momentarily distracted by the ever intriguing intricacies of human culture. They may be primitive enough to have never encountered other species beyond their own, or made it past their own solar system, but the creativity buried in those little synapses is impressive in its own right. “And this…’Tom and Jerry’ is one of these, then?”  
  
“Yeah. It’s an old cartoon series, about a cat that chases a mouse,” Lance explains.  
  
“Ah!” Coran says, now understanding. “So we are this cat of yours, destined for victory in the hunt if we persevere!”   
  
Lance stares at him for a moment, and then says, “Coran, the cat always loses. That's why it's funny…"  
  
 _“What?”_ Coran yelps, incredulous. “What kind of terrible lesson can that teach you human younglings about achieving victory?” No wonder he has to spend so much time looking out for them!  
  
“What? No, it’s not about life lessons, it’s just…it’s just _funny,_ ” Lance says, exasperated. “It’s just fun to watch. Y’know. When you’re not a _part_ of it.”   
  
Well that, at least, Coran can agree with.  
  
But victory does indeed come to the patient, enduring soldier, and in the end the solution is so simple Coran is almost ashamed he hasn’t thought of it earlier. The idea hits him like an angry _klanmüril_ , and he’s so stunned at the revelation he simply has to act on it as soon as possible. So he drags Lance out of bed in the early vargas, before even Shiro has roused the paladins for morning training, and hauls the not-entirely-awake blue paladin after him to the main bridge.  
  
“This is an ungodly hour to be conscious, Coran,” Lance groans. Coran had barely given him enough time to wash the…the green whatever-it-was…off of his face. Between the lines under his eyes, his bedraggled hair, and barefoot, robe-less pajamas—the sleep mask and robe had both disappeared shortly after his headphones—Lance looks _quite_ a sight.   
  
Fortunately, Coran is at least somewhat familiar with the morning rituals of his new paladins at this point, and shoves a hot cup of _keris_ into Lance’s hands. The paladins all claim it tastes a great deal like something called ‘coffee’ back on Earth. Although it’s considered a dinner drink on every civilized planet in the universe, Coran’s willing to make exceptions for his humans if it means they wake up and focus a little faster.  
  
“I have it,” he says excitedly, as soon as even a little of the dull-eyed, blank indifference of sleep fades from Lance’s eyes. “I _finally_ have the answer. I know how we’re going to catch them!”   
  
“Oh yeah?” Lance asks, sipping his _keris_ with notably more interest in the conversation. Then again, Lance has become a lot more invested in the battle against the mice ever since most of his possessions have gone missing. “And how are we supposed to do that?”  
  
 _“Cameras!”_ Coran says decisively, gesturing knowingly in the air with one finger.  
  
Lance blinks at him sleepily. “We’ve tried that. They chew them up. Or block them. Or hide them. Or—“  
  
“Not to spy on them,” Coran says, shaking his head. He snaps his mustache with one hand, pleased with himself for finally lighting on the answer. “Not individual cameras for these traps. I mean the _surveillance cameras_. In the whole Castle of Lions.”   
  
Lance stares for a moment, but then his eyes light up as he sudden grasps what Coran means. “Oh! They’ll have been caught in action at some point, if the Castle always has surveillance, yeah. That’s a start.” He frowns. “But couldn’t they get rid of it somehow? I mean…they’ve been smart enough to do that before, right?”  
  
“Not for the Castle’s main systems, they couldn’t,” Coran says decisively, feeling particularly smug. “It would have to be approved by myself or the princess. I certainly wouldn’t help them with it—“  
  
“—and it would be all the evidence Allura needs to realize you were right about them stealing stuff,” Lance finishes, catching on. “Yeah. Okay. So, what do we got then?”  
  
“Let’s find out!” Coran snaps his mustache again, and then brings up the holo-screens, cycling through data until he finds the surveillance feeds. There’s hundreds of feeds to search through, though. The Castle is simply enormous, even if they only use a very small portion of the space.  
  
“Try the paladin’s quarters,” Lance offers. “My sleep mask went missing two quintents ago. I bet we catch someone in the act.”   
  
Coran obligingly keys up the surveillance for the hall, and fast-forwards through the footage. He watches as Shiro leaves his room on screen and knocks on the rest of the paladins’ doors to wake them for breakfast and morning practice, and as the rest of the paladins trickle out one by one, fully armored. About two quintents of stillness pass without incident, but then Coran catches it—a little flicker of movement in the corner of the screen, down the hall.  
  
“There!” Lance says, also catching it.  
  
Coran taps the screen to slow the footage down to real time. They watch as Platt ambles his way towards the paladins’ rooms, with the other three mice around him. Chulatt and Plachu set up watch as Chuchule squeezes its way under Lance’s door. There’s stillness for a dobosh, and then the door slides open, clearly triggered from the inside. Platt ambles his way in like he owns the room. And while there’s no feeds inside the paladins’ quarters for privacy’s sake, they do have a clear view of the moment Platt darts out of the room, sleep-mask held precariously in his mouth.  
  
“That little thief!” Lance scowls. “My beauty sleep’s been interrupted for two days because of that!”   
  
Platt darts down the hall and out of sight of the surveillance camera, while the other mice scatter. On sudden inspiration, however, Coran keys up the camera in the hallway Platt’s run off to at the same timestamp, and feels a little thrill of victory when he catches the mouse running down the next hallway, sleep-mask in hand.  
  
“That’s got to be plenty,” Lance says. “We can show this to Allura—no way the mice can deny it now. She can make them give us our stuff back.”  
  
“Or we could find it ourselves,” Coran says. “Why bother the princess over one incident when there’s a whole hoard of evidence we could show her instead?” On screen, Platt darts down another hallway, and Coran finds the relevant camera to follow the mouse.  
  
“If you think you can,” Lance says, dubious but intrigued despite himself. He leans closer.   
  
“You can help,” Coran instructs, opening a second holographic window and placing a second bank of surveillance screens on it. “Starting with the next level, at this timestamp…”  
  
It’s tricky work, even with the Castle of Lion’s advance systems and two sets of eyes. Platt manages to duck out of sight more than once, and vanish into ventilation shafts or through doors once or twice with his prize, and it takes some time to find him again. It takes over a varga to follow the trail, but follow it they do, until Platt disappears into a storage unit on the thirteenth level. It’s in a hallway Coran hasn’t even had a chance to begin cleaning up yet. About thirty doboshes pass with no movement, and then Platt leaves the room, minus one sleep mask.  
  
“We’ve got him!” Coran says triumphantly. “We’ve finally found his hidden stash, Lance!”   
  
“Great,” Lance says, both victorious and a little relieved. “Then let’s get my stuff back—and everyone else’s.” He stares down at his bare feet. “The metal floors on this ship are _cold._ ”   
  
Coran brings a hover cart and a number of collapsible bags with them—he knows Platt has disappeared with a _lot_ of items over the course of several feebs, and he’s sure there will be plenty to recover and re-distribute back to their proper places. Lance accompanies him, for once more than willing to help with a little clean-up work. They make it to the storage unit in record time, long before any of the others on the ship are even awake.   
  
The moment Coran keys open the doorway, there’s an indignant squeal. Platt appears at their feet, chattering and shaking his paws at them.   
  
“Now now, none of that, Platt,” Coran says, hands on hips. “We’ve only come to take back what’s _rightfully_ ours. You’ve been stealing and blaming it on others! The princess certainly won’t be happy about that.”   
  
Platt continues to chatter angrily as Coran and Lance step over him—carefully—and into the storage room proper. It smells a bit musty and is full of old boxes and crates, but one large antique royalty trunk stands out in particular to Coran, in the center of the room. It stands out because there’s a large hole chewed through one corner, exactly the size of an Altean mouse.   
  
Coran strides over and, with a victorious snap, cracks open the lid of the trunk.  
  
The insides are _astounding._ Coran had known Platt was making off with all manner of items, but never had he imagined one mouse could take so _much_. Crystals, repair equipment, exercise equipment, bits of food, hair ribbons, jewelry, gloves, hats, towels, blankets, old toys, game piece, buttons, zippers, screws, cables, remotes, pebbles, pressed flowers, and all manner of trash—boxes, papers, bottles, broken knickknacks and gewgaws—fill the trunk. Anything to even remotely catch Platt’s interest that was approximately his size or light enough for him to drag away was clearly here, and the stash had just as clearly been building since the day they’d all been freed from the cryo-pods. Despite his frustrations, Coran is frankly impressed the mouse had managed to sneak away so much.   
  
“Wow,” Lance says, just as clearly impressed, as he leans over the trunk next to Coran. After a moment he starts pawing through the collection carefully. “Look, there’s my mask! And my headphones. And my slippers. And my robe. And I’m pretty sure that’s the spatula Hunk lost. And I think this is one of Keith’s gloves? Or maybe Shiro’s? Actually, probably Shiro’s, he only needs one, he might not have missed the other. And—oh come on, this is the controller for the _Mercury Gameflux II!_ Pidge has been blaming _me_ for losing that!”   
  
Platt skitters up on top of the open trunk lid and squeaks shrilly, bouncing on it as though trying to snap it shut with his weight. Coran holds it open easily, and although Platt tries to push his hand away, the mouse’s strength pales in comparison to an Altean’s. Indignant, Platt turns and chatters angrily at Lance, who scowls back.  
  
“Oh no you don’t. I felt bad for you at first, but _you’ve_ never been on the end of a lecture from _Pidge_. You got me blamed for that! I’m sorry, but enough is enough.”   
  
“I’m _quite_ in agreement,” Coran says. He spies movement around the room as the other three mice emerge, but none of them attack or try any tricks; just slink out of hiding to watch the proceedings. Apparently their alliance only goes so far, up until the point at which they’re caught.   
  
Lance brings the cart and collapsible bags in, and they start scooping out the stolen goods, to be sorted through and returned to their proper places later. The more they dig down into the pile, the more impressive Platt’s work becomes. Lance exclaims every time he finds an item he’d been sure was lost ages ago on another planet—souvenirs from battles and liberated civilizations, skin care products he’d sworn he’d just misplaced. Coran finds a number of missing items as well, including most of the tools he’d ‘misplaced,’ and a number of his own personal effects.   
  
Platt retreats to a nearby crate, after trying unsuccessfully to stop both of them from retrieving his stolen goods. For a while he paces restlessly on top of the box, chattering at them angrily, ears laid flat. But eventually, the more inevitable it becomes that his loot will be completely dispersed, the slower his pacing starts to become.  
  
And eventually, to Coran’s bewilderment, the yellow mouse starts to cry.  
  
It’s not really crying in a human or Altean sense, of course, but the little mouse sits back on the crate, back paws kicked out in front of him, buries his little mouse nose in his little mouse paws, and begins emitting piteous little squeaks. The other mice rush to his side in a flash, crawling up the crate to snuggle around their friend. Plachu and Chulatt pat the yellow mouse on the back comfortingly, and Chuchule gives Coran a dirty look.  
  
“I’ll not be falling for false tears,” Coran says, but even as he says it, he’s not entirely sure of it. Platt’s ears are lowered and his whole body quivers with little sobs, and he does seem genuinely upset.  
  
“I don’t think he’s faking it,” Lance mutters to him. There’s a trace of guilt on his face as he glances between the piles of loot—half in the trunk and half in the bags—and the mouse. “I guess he worked really hard to get all this stuff…”  
  
On the crate, Platt’s ears flick, and he looks up from his paws, giving Lance the saddest, most pitiable, most adorable look Coran has ever seen. And yet Coran really doesn’t think he’s faking it; he’s seen enough of Platt’s fake innocence to know the real deal. Annoying as he’s been, the mouse is genuinely upset that all his treasures are dismantled so easily, and that he’ll get in trouble with Allura over it on top of all of that.  
  
Lance winces at the look. “Hey, Coran…I want my stuff back, and I know some of this other stuff needs to go back, since we need it and all, but…do we need to take _all_ of it?”   
  
Platt’s ears go upright, and he gives Coran a hopeful look.  
  
And Coran finds himself stuck. He _wants_ to say yes, absolutely they do—there’s no way he’s bowing to the whims of a mouse! Oh, he’d wanted so _badly_ to rub his victory in that little mouse’s nose! He’d been imagining the day he could bring proof to Allura to show that yes, he, _Coran_ , had been telling the truth all along, and that the mice were a menace that couldn’t be trusted not to make off with anything that wasn’t nailed down. He’d been waiting to prove he’d never just ‘misplaced’ things, and that he wasn’t old and forgetful—he really had been telling the truth, from day one! Victory was supposed to be sweet. It was supposed to be _perfect._   
  
But somehow, watching the yellow mouse crying on the crate, watching all his hard-won treasures be taken away, the victory doesn’t feel anything but hollow.   
  
Coran groans, and then sighs, and finally throws up his hands. “Alright! Alright. I agree.”  
  
Platt leaps to his feet, ears and tail held high, excitement quivering in his whiskers.   
  
“I agree, _with conditions,_ ” Coran amends, crouching down in front of the crate. “With Lance, Plachu, Chulatt, and Chuchule as witness. We’ll make a deal. There are certain things here that _have_ to be returned to their proper owners, or that we simply must have for day to day use. And there are certain things you can’t touch, got it? Things we need for taking care of the Castle, and possessions belonging to myself and the paladins, are all off limits. If you want something, you _ask_ first, and if something goes missing that somebody needs, you return it, got it? But other things, like the kind of things we’ll leave behind today…those things will be fair game. Acceptable?”  
  
Platt nods enthusiastically in agreement, and offers Coran a paw. Coran extends his littlest finger to shake on the deal.  
  
“There. That’s a binding verbal contract, and I expect you to hold your end of the deal, Platt,” Coran says seriously. “If something goes missing and it’s not returned, I will find your stash again, and this time we’ll take everything away. Clear?”  
  
Platt nods again, this time solemnly.   
  
They spend the next two vargas sorting through Platt’s treasures, now with the help of the mice, who are quite quick and clever about sorting various types of items into different piles for perusal. In the end, Coran recovers a fair number of personal possessions, tools, and equipment, stowing them away in the collapsible bags with Lance’s help. They discard the old food in another sack, mostly to prevent smell and rot. The remainder is a hodgepodge of old toys, papers, scraps of cloth and discarded accessories, old bits and bobs and knicknacks, nothing that Coran or the others will really _need_ but do seem to keep Platt happy regardless.   
  
“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure,” Lance says, grinning. His mood has significantly improved since recovering most of his lost items. He’s currently wearing his slippers and robe again, his headphones are around his neck, and the sleep mask is currently pushed up across his forehead. “That’s a saying on Earth. I guess it applies here.”  
  
“Humans have some wise sayings, it sound like,” Coran says. _On occasion_ , he adds internally. To this day he still doesn't understand the one about duck seats.  
  
The lost items are returned to their proper places in record time, with Lance’s help, especially when Coran gets him out of paladin training for the day to assist (and Lance is positively smug about that). They decide, without really needing to discuss it, not to bring the whole mishap to the princess’ attention. They’d solved the problem in their own way, and really, there was no need to borrow trouble when there wasn’t any trouble after all, was there?  
  
Everything goes back to normal. Items do on occasion disappear, but they’re mostly unimportant ones. Coran’s tools and personal effects are left alone, as are Lance’s. The other paladins seem completely unaware that any incident had ever happened at all.   
  
Just another tireless task Coran handles behind the scenes, naturally. All in a quintent’s work.   
  
But then it happens. While reviewing the energy levels on the crystal oscillator, Coran sets his monitor down for just a dobosh to adjust the settings…and when he turns around again, it’s gone.   
  
Platt, when he tracks the mouse down, merely shrugs, and crosses his paw over his little heart, a human gesture that Coran’s learned to recognize. _Cross my heart and hope to die,_ he has nothing to do with the theft at all.  
  
And a wave of sudden realization hits Coran as he realizes, very belatedly, that he’d only ever sworn Platt to the verbal contract. Not any of the others.   
  
Drat those mice!


End file.
